


The Taste of Curiosity

by FeministKItty



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Secret Relationship, dream husbands, non-au, secret dream husbands, secret husbands, why does ariadne keep asking questions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-07 00:37:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11612295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeministKItty/pseuds/FeministKItty
Summary: Ariadne's curious, Arthur's having none of it, and Eames is full of surprises.





	The Taste of Curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my WIP folder for literally years, so have some secret husbands trope because there's just not nearly enough of it!
> 
> thanks to its-veinsoffire-stuff, bokvshi, and alwaysalovestory for beta-ing this! (find them on tumblr)

Ariadne was _bored_. 

She had reached a dead end with her work, and couldn’t make any more progress until Eames came back from digging up intimate details of the mark’s home. Arthur had worked his magic and gotten Ariadne the blueprints of the mark’s house, but she needed specifics, homely, familiar details to lull their mark into thinking he was relaxing in his lounge, rather than knocked out in a hotel room hooked up to military-grade technology. 

She looked over to where Arthur was scribbling into his moleskine and decided to do some digging of her own. 

 

\- 

 

“Is there, like, history between you and Eames, or something?” Ariadne leaned against Arthur’s desk as he flicked through his files. 

“Why do you want to know?” Arthur didn’t look up and definitely did not sound like he wanted to have this conversation, but Ariadne was _determined._

“There just definitely seems to be something there,” she mused, teasing. 

Ariadne knew that Arthur was trying to pretend she wasn’t there, prying into his love life, but she could tell he was struggling to concentrate on his notes with her cluttering up his space.

“You do think he’s attractive though, right?” By this point she had hoisted herself up onto Arthurs desk, accidently knocking some pens to the ground and shifting a pile of neatly ordered papers. Arthur’s eye twitched, and she knew how badly he wanted to push her off his desk and straighten out his things, “I mean, he’s not my type, but I can definitely appreciate those shoulders.”

Arthur closed his binder and tilted his head back, breathing deeply through his nose. “Ariadne, can you please let me get on with my work.”

“In a minute Arthur, listen,” she said earnestly, putting her hand on his arm, “it’s obvious Eames… what’s that word he used… _fancies_ you,” she placed a spread hand over Arthur’s papers, and knew that Arthur was probably trying very hard not to say something that would cross the line from mild irritation to wholly callous.

She was probably being unfair interrogating Arthur like this, he works harder than anyone, on any job, and would reach the end of his tether with her at any moment.

“Why don’t you just go for it?” she encouraged. 

Arthur’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood from his desk. He was very clearly done with Ariadne’s prying. Perhaps she should have chosen a better time to play cupid. Arthur had dark circles forming under his eyes, clearly tired, so she didn’t take his snapping to heart. She felt partly bad that she had made Arthur feel uncomfortable enough to leave, but then remembered all the times he had made her do coffee runs in the rain, and interrupted holidays in paradise for jobs she absolutely had to be a part of, and, most notably, how he has dumped Cobb on her, and the pang of guilt quickly disappeared. 

“You have more important things to worry about than my love life, Ariadne, go do some work.”

At least she wasn’t bored anymore. 

 

_ _

 

“Ariadne, darling, I hear you’ve been annoying Arthur,” Eames announced the next day while Ariadne was sitting at her desk eating lunch. He pulled up a chair next to her, “I can’t have that, that’s my job.”

Truthfully, Ariadne was rather surprised that Arthur would have mentioned their conversation – or non-conversation, really, Arthur was not very receptive – to Eames, of all people.

“I’m just sick of watching you two dance around each other,” she dropped her fork into her salad, exasperated. “You’re like children pulling on each other’s pigtails, honestly, it’s creating a hostile work environment. I wish we had a boss I could make a formal complaint to,” she was almost pouting, but Eames looked more amused than anything else.

“You’re aware he always knows where you are, right? Like, always, Eames.”

Eames was practically beaming by this point. He picked a cucumber out of Ariadne’s salad, risking near certain wounding by plastic cutlery, as she sputtered unpleasantries in protest. 

“My dear, if you plan on making a proper career out of this industry, you really must learn to be more observant,” he hummed thoughtfully.

“Don’t be so patronising,” she sulked, moving her lunch out of reach of Eames’ pilfering fingers, “I’m plenty observant.”

Eames was chuckling to himself now, “You’re right though, I definitely do fancy Arthur.”

“I knew it!” Ariadne sang, and then lulled her tone to something more thoughtful, “I just want you both to be happy, he’s like a rock when it comes to anything other than his work.” 

That wasn’t completely true. She’d seen Arthur become despairingly outraged multiple times while reading Game of Thrones, and he was sincerely happy for her when she told him she had bought her first home. But Arthur clearly valued his professionalism over anything else while they were working, so a cold day in hell would be more likely than seeing the human side of him while on a job. 

Eames smiled at her and conceded, “Arthur can be difficult to read.” Ariadne snorted in agreement. “But I can assure you my husband is perfectly happy.”

Ariadne frowned and was quiet for a moment, staring down at her salad. “I didn’t see that one coming.” 

Eames just laughed, “It’s okay, love, I just think you might give Arthur an aneurism if you carry on, you know what he’s like.”

Ariadne rubbed at her face, like she was thoroughly confused, “how long?”

Eames opened his mouth to answer, but stopped, furrowing his brow, and began counting on his fingers. “Three... no, four. Four years.” 

He sounded uncertain. 

“I really do need to work on my observation skills.”

Eames, still staring down at his hand, looked concerned, “It is August, isn’t it?” 

“Four years and seven months,” Arthur called from his desk without turning to address them, putting Eames out of his misery.

Eames smiled proudly at Ariadne, almost smug, “Four years and seven months.”


End file.
